


Did you slip in through open doors and sit down, just to look at me like that (every day)

by ImberReader



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, In dark times there will be tropes, Jaime/Brienne Monthly Madness, Mutual Pining, Mutual Pining March, and they were roommates!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23418598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImberReader/pseuds/ImberReader
Summary: Brienne doesn'tmeanto lie to her father. She just wants him to stop trying to set her up with men who aren't Jaime Lannister, whom she's secretly in love with. Unfortunately, that's exactly who eagerly inserts himself in the narrative as her fake boyfriend. And her father is coming to King's Landing in two weeks.Truly, what could go wrong?
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 50
Kudos: 175
Collections: J/B Monthly Madness: March 2020





	1. Brienne I

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't live with myself if I only did one entry for Mutual Pining March. So, instead of tackling one of my 30 already existing ideas, I made a new one. _And_ it turned out too large for me to finish in one go on 31st, so you get my first attempt at multichapter in this fandom. Woohoo?
> 
> Shoutout to lovely [Roccolinde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roccolinde/pseuds/Roccolinde) for sprinting me through this.
> 
> Title from Dreamcatcher's [Jazz Bar](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1rKGt8fuPGw).
> 
> (Obviously) Not beta-d. We embarrass ourselves publicly like men. You can find me on [tumblr](https://scoundrels-in-love.tumblr.com/).

It starts like most lies and life changing avalanches - quite innocently.

Brienne is sitting on a couch in the living room, a sports game playing on the screen mutely while she chats with her father over a videocall. Jaime is puttering around in the kitchen, preparing snacks for the movie they’re planning to watch after the game ends and all things considered, it’s a lot like most of her Sunday nights. 

Except her dad had left the matter of dating alone for a few good months and she definitely isn’t overjoyed by the theme's revival. “Brienne, he really likes your work and I think there’d be no harm meeting him for a coffee after the convention.”

“Dad, no. Thank you, but no.” She shifts uncomfortably, considers calling Jaime over because the movie is ‘starting’, so she can end the call early. 

“I know you think you don’t need relationships and maybe you don’t _need_ them, but I just think you deserve to have someone who loves and respects you, admires you and what you do,” her dad says and she can feel the well-intended love warming her all the way from Tarth. She longs for a huge beach umbrella to hide under. 

“And that’s _exactly_ what my friends do,” she says, firmly, and the knowledge it’s true fills her chest. She cannot entirely blame her father’s worry - the girl that had left Tarth would not have been able to imagine or believe the group of people that surround her nowadays, either. The warmth, support and sometimes the absolute nonsense she has found with them still feels almost unreal at times. 

Her dad sighs, brows furrowing with soft concern in a way that makes her feel _guilty_ somehow. “You know what I mean, Starlight. You don’t have to keep seeing him, but won’t you consider at least one meeting?”

And this is when the most horrible, most escapist idea bounces off her tongue, bypassing her brain entirely. “It wouldn’t be fair to the man, because I just started seeing someone, dad.”

The silence following is no longer than a blink, but she feels as if it has turned into the time stretch she is going to need to hurriedly pack her bags, go to the airport and leave for Pentos, never to return again. She has lied to her father only a handful of times, and though he only found out once (when she had lied about why she had broken Connigton’s nose), this one is ancient parchment thin because she has no followup whatsoever.

“Really? Who is it?” Selwyn leans closer to the phone, an exact mix of disbelief and excitement such a statement would call for. Her stomach is both knotted up and rolling around, as if looking for an escape route.

“Yes,” she responds, turning to call for Jaime for some chips in a horrible attempt to bargain for time to use lost Asshai magics to summon a person who doesn’t exist. 

Except her roommate is already standing behind the couch, plate of snacks in his hand and grin on his face. He swoops down, propping his chin on her shoulder and she can feel the heat radiating from his brilliant smile as he says: “It’s me.”

Her stomach finds a trap door and falls straight into the abyss.

Her dad’s eyebrows shoot up and this time, he leans back, as if to inspect the picture they both paint, squished in the tiny frame of her camera. She can _feel_ he finds it unconvincing. So she does the only reasonable thing: turns her head and presses a brief kiss to the corner of Jaime’s mouth. 

“Yes,” Brienne says for the second time that night and it feels just as condemning. Her lips are still burning.

“I finally gathered my courage and confessed to her recently, but I am still in the process of convincing her of the endless depth of my devotion, hence her hesitancy to mention it immediately, Mr. Tarth.” 

He sounds so perfectly boy-next-door, sweet and respectful, all the things she knows he is not (at least the respectful part), but Jaime’s always liked her father and been an excellent actor. It’s rare when he uses the skill to look like anything else than an utter asshole, though, so in any other situation she’d marvel at the sight. But she can’t, her mind exists only to force her lips into, hopefully, a natural smile and a nod in the direction of her father. 

“Well, that’s great news! I was wondering if you’d ever get to it,” her dad grins and she almost asks him to repeat it, because it _makes no sense_ , but he isn’t done talking yet. “I will see you two after the convention, then? I look forward to your lecture, Starlight. And the whole story of how the two of you got together.” 

She nods dumbly, exchanges good night wishes with her dad (accompanied by “Good night, Mr. Tarth!” in sing-song voice) and then ends the call. The relief doesn’t set in, like Brienne had hoped. 

Jaime plops down next to her, looking completely unbothered as he turns the volume back up. The movie is about to start, but she has about a million questions, for herself and more importantly - for Jaime.

“Why did you do that?” 

“Well, I couldn’t let your lie fall apart the minute you said it. That’s not what _friends_ do.” He stresses the word strangely, with almost a brittle edge, but Brienne is not equipped to decipher it right now. 

“But now we will have to pretend to be dating and if we fake a breakup, how will we explain you still live with me?”

“You haven’t been dating me for a month and already think about breaking up? I will do a better job now that I am aware of it,” he grins, easy and bright, like he has just discovered their favorite childhood cartoon _Blue Knight_ is having a rerun on Saturday mornings, instead of making light of a new and nerve wrecking variable of their lives.

Instead of processing any of it, Brienne punches his shoulder slightly, at which he groans in an exaggerated manner. “I never agreed to being manhandled outside the bedroom.”

Her brain, thoroughly deep fried by the events of tonight, pulls itself together in that moment to create a vivid image of Jaime being _manhandled_ in the bedroom. Briene inhales sharply, but somehow manages to turn exhale into something else than an eager noise.

Before her brain decides to cope by making the image into a clip, she focuses on the real matter at hand. “Jaime, this is _serious_. We just lied to my father and now we will have to pretend to be dating indefinitely, unless we have a faux amicable breakup, because I don’t want to pretend you’re not my friend for the rest of my life.” Somewhere in the abyss, her stomach convulses at the thought.

At this, he turns to face her, more serious, but with last remnants of playful grin gilding his words. “So, it was a little spontaneous, but you were about to invent a man who’d always be away on business trips and ask Sansa photoshop fake couple photos, weren’t you?” Brienne bristles, but can’t say _no_ , when it had been one of the panicked thoughts running headfirst in the side of her skull. 

He leans in, arm that has been resting on the back of couch coming to wrap around her shoulder and pull her closer and last vestiges of lighthearted grin turn into something she doesn’t quite have the words for, as his teeth sink in his bottom lip just _so_ and his eyes look darker and wilder than any forest she’s ever known. “Believe me, I will be way more _convincing_.” 

Brienne has to bite the inside of her cheek to not blurt out _that’s one of the things I’m afraid of_. How is she supposed to walk through this unscatched when his well-meant game and her own yearnings will cut into her like fine silver wire?

He seems to take her silence as agreement and backs off a little, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “We will figure it out, B. War council tomorrow. But for now, let’s just watch the movie, okay?” 

His gaze is warm now, like a lovely summer day in shade, and she is comforted by it enough to agree. But not enough to actually be able to focus on the movie instead of replaying tonight’s events in her mind, asking herself again and again why she had lied. Jaime chastises her for it a few times and seems to gradually grow tenser, too, until they call it a night earlier than they normally would. 

“Don’t worry about it too much and just sleep,” he tells her for good night and his concern drops a ladder in the bottomless pit where her stomach still resides, while his smile sheds some light in it. 

And when Brienne curls up in her bed a little later, she knows she lied because she does feel taken, if only in her heart. She’s in love with Jaime, has been for a long time now. It’s never been something to really _think_ about, just a fact that sometimes fills her with glow and pinpricks of yearning when she wonders just how the lines of their friendship would blur into something more if it were possible.

Except now she will have to walk the line between pretense and her secret fantasy without revealing it.

She is so, _so_ fucked. 


	2. Jaime I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much for all your positively overwhelming response to the first chapter! I honestly did not expect that and I still can't believe it. All I can hope for is that you find this chapter equally enjoyable!
> 
> Huge thank you to [Roccolinde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roccolinde/pseuds/Roccolinde), [Aviss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviss/pseuds/Aviss) and [Nire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nire/pseuds/nire) for their unfailing faith and support, and patience of holding my hand through all my anxiety and ramblings about this. (And great many other things.) Double the thanks to Roccolinde who proofread this chapter for me.
> 
> New chapter unlikely to be published before next Monday or even later into the week, but who knows? (Tentative final chapter count also added.)

He is so, _so_ fucked.

Not quite the same way he thought a week ago, but still very much fucked.

Jaime glances over to where Brienne is watching a game on the couch for what feels like the hundredth time this half hour. While _that_ itself isn’t unusual, everything else is. Tenseness in her shoulders he isn’t sure he will lure out with a stupid joke and then slay with even worse one, the way they’ve barely spoken to each other today and that his heart is being harshly kneaded by some huge, clawed animal. He’d say it’s a lion, but considering his House that feels just a little _cliche_. 

Though, according to Elia, he is a walking cliche and a terribly executed one, at that. He sighs, realizes that the beer bottle really isn’t where he’s blindly grabbing for it, and averts his gaze from his fake girlfriend. There is exactly one word too many in that title and it’s neither girl or friend. If only he could convince Brienne of the same. 

Jaime has _tried_ , he really has. Gotten up earlier to make sure he can prepare her coffee and go on a jog with her, kissed her goodbye on the cheek, pestered her into having a lunch during work hours and ordered takeout to arrive just after she got home the days he knew he’d be home even later than her, sent her obscure memes about animals he found on some nature activist group on Raventome that he frankly didn’t get but hoped she would and have a good laugh between work and more.

Granted, he does all these things regularly anyway (except the cheek kisses, but he isn’t sure they’re as much of a highlight of the day for her as they are for him), but now it’s daily. And it’s not a bother, like Brienne tries to convince him to think, and Jaime would gladly do it for the rest of the foreseeable future. _Even_ waking an hour earlier, although he likes to think that if they were properly dating, he’d persuade her to explore other workouts they could do in the time without leaving the house.

Elia suggested it’s because she’s stressed about the convention, but Jaime knows better. (“Of course you do, that’s why you suggested to be her _fake_ boyfriend instead of telling her you’ve been head over heels for her for years now.”) No, Brienne’s work has nothing to do with the skittishness in her eyes, the way she freezes when he presses lips to her delightfully reddening cheek, sometimes daring to brush corner of her mouth or lingering a second too long because her proximity makes him a little dizzy, or stumbles over conversations topics as if they are larger than boulders she can easily best when hiking. She doesn’t even shut down his flirtations anymore - instead she looks away and mumbles something or trips into the next topic. 

Their new arrangement is the cause, and the realization has been rolling toward him like a house sized morning star down a gentle slope.

“Jaime? Movie’s starting,” subject of his sweet agony and worry calls out and Jaime realizes he has quite literally spaced out. And that perhaps his inner narrator is going a little overboard. Elia would have another laughing fit if she knew.

He grabs the snacks and another beer and presents them to her with a smile, falls heavily in his spot that earns a little bit of glare from Brienne because, of course, she’s concerned for the springs and one of these days he will tell her he can think of more interesting things to wreck their couch with. ‘One of these days’ feels like an awful stretch and ‘a mountainclimb later’ sort of thing, though. He heaves a sigh. 

“Everything alright, Jaime?” she asks and he looks at her, armed with a bright smile and an easy no, when they crumble faced with concern that colors the blue of her eyes deeper, yet gilded shade like the last glimpse of sunset paints the sea. Of course Brienne finds time to worry about him, despite seemingly thinking she’s standing between two cannons labelled ‘work’ and ‘fake boyfriend’, ready to shoot.

He wants to pull her close and press a kiss to her furrowed brow so much he can physically feel an alternate reality, one where he’s braver and does just that, manifest. 

Unfortunately, in this one Jaime only laughs and plops his head in her lap, facing the TV. “Of course I am, B. But if you’re so worried, you can always pet my head and tell me it’s going to be alright.” He likes it when she says that, the way she sets her jaw mulishly and seems to simply talk it into existence with sheer willpower and kindness. But never for herself, only others.

Brienne stills for a moment, then, much to his relief, makes indigant noise and pushes at his shoulder slightly but with no real force. “I’m not a cushion, Jaime” she tells him and he shifts just so he can grin up at her.

“C’mon, I’ve been a good boyfriend this week, have I not earned one lap cushion coupon? I must use it before it expires.”

“ _Fake_ boyfriend,” she says seriously and Jaime looks at the screen again so she can’t witness his grin shattering like the window of Casterly Rock’s kitchen when he had been six and too eager while playing ball. He might feel even more chastised than after the lecture Tywin had given him, which had left a stone grinding sharp edge in his gut for a week. 

“Fine, but I am not going to pet your head. You are not an overgrown housecat, no matter how much you may act as one,” Brienne relents, but by the end of the movie, she brushes back a strand he has shaken into his eyes and halfway through the second movie, she actually runs her hand through his hair and he barely manages to remain still, instead of following her hand like foam graces a wave’s edge.

All things considered, Jaime feels re-energized for the next week and his little war campaign on Brienne’s heart. He likes to think of it as war, though she is not a thing to conquer despite her truly formidable walls, just to trounce the narrative she has set for herself. 

Once, before that fatefully shitty night when a pipe in his first _own_ apartment burst and Brienne had invited him to stay over until it was fixed (and then he never really left), they had talked about who they would be in Targaryen and Stark eras, both revealing their dreams about knighthood.

Already knowing her love for ridiculous, historical(ly inaccurate) romance novels, he had joked if she’d not like ballads written about her instead, but Brienne’s face had shuttered and she had reminded him that no one would go to war for _her_. “I would rather defend the innocent and fight than stay home a sad and unmarried maid,” she had concluded, before going off about Blue Knight and other warrior women of Tarth. Jaime had already known back then that in any lifetime she’d be worthy of many great songs - of love and otherwise. But the bridge of their friendship was tentative still and he had had no intentions of being the one to lay the siege on her heart. 

And when he had wanted to, he had already been so deep in the annoying, best friend role and still so utterly not having his shit together he didn’t feel he had the right to start the march. Someone better would surely come along. Except no one has, three years later still, and Brienne seems to think it’s a sign she only deserves a photoshopped suit-hanger and Jaime would rather be pierced endlessly by her glowering and risk her friendship that he treasures above anything he has ever known, than passively let her continue believing that.

For now, he’s only dying because of work, as they are currently quite swamped. It doesn’t help at all that his brain is a little (or a whole lot, but who's counting) occupied with various Romance-Brienne-So-Hard-She-Doesn’t-Know-What-Hit-Her strategies. His plans for Friday come to immediate stop when he arrives home and finds Brienne fallen asleep at the kitchen table, her laptop’s screensaver of pixelated Kingslayer and Blue Knight from their favorite cartoon bouncing around the screen. He had installed it the first week of living here and despite her initial grumbling, she has never changed or disabled it.

This would be easier if Brienne’s one quirk when working at home wasn’t changing her workspace every few hours, as if it helps her think. It’s one of her most restless habits and typically, Jaime finds it adorable, but now that he has to haul half-asleep Brienne to her room he… Who is kidding, he also finds it endearing. 

“Jaime, I can walk,” she scoffs, but leans on him anyway and when he helps her lay down on the bed, her eyes are soft and a little dazed and he thinks of early spring mornings, when nothing but the birds and clouds are awake yet, against the blueness of the sky. 

Brienne curls up and he pulls a blanket over her and she gives him a sleepy smile, so warm that the consistent pull toward her feels anchored to the sun itself. He follows it and leans down and presses lips to her forehead. She exhales softly and when he pulls back, her eyes are closed, but there’s an almost sad turn to her lips. 

“I really don’t want this to end, Jaime.” Her voice is so quiet he almost doesn’t hear - he wouldn’t if he wasn’t so close. His heart does an odd thing in his chest, something that would make it more of a rope dancer than a lion leaping through a ring of fire. 

Jaime brushes a strand of her hair back, gently, in an attempt to reassure what odd fear has burrowed into her heart. He shouldn’t be so happy every time Brienne expresses she doesn’t want to lose him, but even her brilliant light can’t erase generations of carefully cultivated selfishness. “It doesn’t have to.” 

“But it will.” And then she nuzzles deeper in the pillow and he knows this is a conversation to be finished (or maybe repeated) when she’s actually awake. Quietly, he walks out of the room and when the door has shut gently, bounces toward the living room with a grin that everyone would tell him begs for a punch.

There is hope for him yet.


End file.
